Powerless
by Ultimate Guy Fieri 420
Summary: Clint Barton attempts to adjust to the life that comes with being one of the lesser-known Avengers


**Powerless**

By Griffin Quelette Scanlan

You're sitting in the lobby of a bank waiting for an appointment you showed up half an hour early for. This is your day off and this is what you're doing with it.

A little kid waits with his mother on the bench next to yours. He stares at you and you flash him a smile. You take off your sunglasses, just so he knows it's really you. But when you do he gets bored and looks away. His mother looks over at you. She doesn't look excited, she looks creeped out. You wonder if wearing the outfit and carrying your bow around with you in public might help. You figure it's probably not the best.

You spot the attractive young Latino woman as she steps out of her office. She's beautiful in a completely realistic way that you're not at all used to. You need to settle down, you think. You've got plenty on your plate in that department as is.

"Barton?" she asks the room. You stand to greet her.

"Yeah, that's me." You say as she shakes your hand. You follow her into her office, which is more or less just a fancy cubicle. It doesn't compare to your government-paid apartment, but at least it's clean.

"Alright Mr. Barton, I understand you're looking to set up an account with us?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright then, let's get started. Age?"

"Thirty-seven." The number feels absurd coming out of your mouth. When did you get so old?

"Alright. Occupation?"

Oh.

Well that's kind of a bummer. You were hoping she would at least recognize your name well enough to know who you are. You're not as big of a deal as Cap' or Stark but still. You're a pretty big deal. Aren't you?

"Uh," you mutter, trying to think up an answer that doesn't sound braggy. "I work in national security."

"Alright then." She says. She smiles at you, but it means nothing. You know it's not genuine. You're just another customer to her. She drones on, asking you questions about this and that while all you can think about is how you forget how much it sucks to be a civilian.

You've been sitting in the coffee shop for over half an hour. Did she forget? You ask yourself. No, she's probably just pissed and this is how she's showing it. You wonder if she's even worth the wait. In a few weeks she'll be old news anyways. You've never been very good at keeping a steady relationship.

Just as you're getting ready to leave, she walks in through the door. You try your best to hold a smile, but she doesn't look like she's having it. Oh well.

"Hey." She says coldly, taking a seat across from you.

"I got you a coffee." You say, sliding the cup towards her. "One cream, two sugar. Just how you like it."

"It's cold." she says and you think to yourself _yeah, no shit. It's been sitting here for half an hour._

"Sorry."

"And I take my coffee black." she says, as if you're the worst boyfriend anyone's ever had for not remembering.

Enter: Jessica. You've been dating her for a few months now. Things were going good for a while and now they aren't. This seems to be the typical progression you have with women.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk," you start in. You're hopeful about this. You like this girl and you think you might actually come through this time. You think maybe-

Then your pager goes off. Your eyes meet hers. She knows what it means and you know what that means for you.

_Shit._

"Look, Jess, I-"

"Just go." She says. "We'll talk later." You try to kiss her on the cheek on the way out but she turns away. As you step onto the sidewalk, you wonder if anyone else saw it and how much of an ass you must have looked like. So much for a day off.

You open your eyes and you swear you can make out her shape as she walks out into the hallway. You want to yell for her but you haven't got the energy. Plus, you can tell you're pretty hopped up on pain pills and anything you might say would probably just come out as unintelligible mush. Or worse.

"You took quite a hit there, Clint."

It's Cap. His hood is off and he's smiling at you, the way your dad might smile at you after you had broken a bone climbing a tree. Well, maybe not your dad, but a dad.

"What happened?" you manage to mumble.

"You got blind-sided." Cap says apologetically. "Tossed out of a third story window. Not your best day."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Welcome to the Avengers Mansion infirmary.

You pull yourself up out of your cot and waddle over to the bathroom to check yourself out in the mirror. Your whole abdomen is wrapped up in bandages. Other than that, you've got a few cuts, a couple of bruises. Nothing you haven't seen before.

"Doctor says you shouldn't be getting into any action for a few days, at least." Cap says as you return to your bed. _Yeah right_.

"Is anyone else hurt?" you ask.

"Nope. Everyone else is just fine."

Well fuck.

It's late and you should've gone to bed hours ago. Instead, you hang out on your rooftop, cleaning your bow and doing some people watching, except it's the middle of the night and most of the people are inside, asleep. So far it's just been a couple of tired moms getting off of late shifts and one guy that seems to have drunken himself into a small coma in an alleyway down the street. Welcome to Manhattan.

Your wounds hurt, but they're easy to ignore, which is good. Plus, you managed to score a decent supply of pain pills, which should make for an interesting few days. If they last that long.

You wonder how long it will be until you hear from Jessica again, or if you'll hear from her at all. You've lost so many women at this point it just seems like a game. You wonder if maybe that attitude is exactly why you keep losing them. Oh well. Not much you can do about it.

You feel pathetic for worrying so much about it. All of the guys have problems. Every friend or family member Cap had died while he was asleep. Banner can't even go out in public anymore without a small army of armed guards. Tony Stark's a goddamn alcoholic. Who are you to complain? At least they didn't bring any of it on themselves. At least their problems are real.

You look back to the streets just in time to see the banker lady turning the corner. You wonder what such a well-mannered woman could be doing out in the streets at this time of night. But then again, who are you to judge?

As it all happens in front of you, you feel like a bit of an idiot for not catching on sooner.

You watch as the Banker Lady's face freezes in horror as the drunk man in the alley way (who is apparently not that drunk) jumps out in front of her. You can't see it, but the particular brand of fear in the Lady's eyes tell you that he has a knife.

He's speaking to her now, low and guttural. You can't quite make out the words but you don't need to. She tosses him her purse and he makes a run for it. And just when you thought this day was over.

You grab the quiver you have with you, bow in hand. You take aim and the string reverberates as you release. The purse-snatcher goes down. A thin black arrow protrudes from his calf. He cries out in pain.

You watch the Banker Lady approach her downed assailant. She grabs her purse back and looks out into the night sky for her savior, but you're already gone. You're back inside, making your way towards your bed. You wonder if you're making a mistake by not taking advantage of the situation. She's an attractive woman, why not? At the very least maybe she can hook you up with bank stuff, whatever that might mean.

But it's been a long day, and you just want some sleep. Tomorrow will be an all new day with all new problems and all new pains. But hey-

At least you got something done today.


End file.
